“I’m finished.” Angela sighed into her drink. Saying it out loud made her feel cheated, as she traded her fear and anxiety for depression. She had been frantically clawing at the surface of the ocean for the past 10 years, and now she had settled into a trench; crushed, cold, but no longer fighting. She gripped her now warm beer, bathed in the green glow from the terraforming factory that threatened the tiny bar she had crawled into to hide from her failures. She raised the glass to her lips, letting hoppy piss-water graze her tongue before quickly lowering the glass in regret. She didn’t know why she had even ordered beer. She knew by now that any beer produced on this god-forsaken rock was going to be little more than flavored water. She cursed her absent-mindedness; she couldn’t even give the service bot at the bar a decent order.
She scowled at the server as it stood idly by, waiting to be called. The server was her only company in the run-down chain bar. The franchise put tuxes on the things, as if dressing them up would make their stoic presence less unnerving. A pulsing green light on what might be considered its head pulsed needlessly into a room already saturated with green, assuring the patrons of the bar that everything the server observed was being recorded in a hub somewhere. The candlestick fastened tightly to the server’s hip ensured anyone who didn’t mind being recorded still paid their tab.
The smell of walnuts and manure in the bar was renewed as the door swung open unexpectedly. Angela turned to observe an unusually tall man minding his head as he stumbled inside, lethargically making his way to the other end of the bar as though teach additional moment of existence drained more of his soul. His head collapsed into his hands as he settled into the chair, giving in to the weight of the world around him.
“Something the matter?” Angela asked, seeking to distract from her own despair. The man offered a grunt in response, but the sinews covering his hands gave a more intriguing response. Despite the emerald glow of the factory, she could see his dark hands reflecting less than the vines wrapped around them. Either he was trying to make a fashion statement, or he was a lab rat.
She didn’t know how to react, what to say to someone like him. She had heard of human trials being conducted for new treatments that promised regenerative capabilities. The increase in genetic research for plant growth was well known, and Neo Miami was often revered for housing significant breakthroughs in the field. Human augmentations, however, were less advertised. She thought the trials were only rumors spread by an increasingly disenfranchised lower class, but this man was no rumor. “Where are you coming from?” Angela pried. She needed more than her senses could tell her, she needed his confirmation. He sat motionless for a minute, the pulsing green light from the server accentuating his disfigurement. Then, slowly, he picked up his head and locked eyes with Angela, meeting her steely gaze.
“Bogart. Labs.” He overemphasized the words, ensuring he wouldn’t have to repeat himself. She knew it. She had met the CEO of Bogart, a slimy man with ill-intent. Not too different from the other higher-ups she had met from other companies, but what was special about the people at Bogart was how little they talked about their product. The research being done in their lunar branch was always described as “top-secret”, which drew suspicion from Angela only because she could never quite shake the rumors she had heard. She ignored those feelings in favor of the profit she could make by ensuring Rising Star Industries and Bogart had a friendly relationship. That’s just how things were done in Neo Miami. If corporations stuck together, then competition could be avoided and Neo Miami might be profitable.
And here was their work, after she had been cast to the dredges of society, she could finally see what the lower class had been talking about. This man strewn across the bar was the result of the freedoms Bogart had taken from him. Disfigured, alone, and broken.
He dropped his head back to the bar, welcoming any fate that befell him as an escape from the present. The cool metal soothing his mutated body like a mother brushing a cooing child. Whatever money he got from the trial, Angela was sure it wasn’t enough. He would have to return for more eventually, becoming even more disfigured and being less capable of working any other job. This man got trapped in the cogs of a malicious machine whose only intent was to grind whatever money they could from his weakened bones.
After considering him for a while, Angela moved closer to him and called over the server. With a click and a whirr that sounded happy in the face of the despair that permeated the small room, the server wheeled over to her. The display on its face, meant to mimic human eyes and a mouth, shined an artificial smile at its customer. Angela said she was ready to pay, and she waved her hand toward the server so it could get a biometric scan and pull her bank account information to charge. The server raised an arm, and activated a light so as to get a more accurate reading, wiping away the green filter from their corner of the bar. Satisfied with her credentials, the server flashed another polite smile, and resumed its post in the corner behind the bar. Angela nodded to the man, and made her way to the exit. As the door eased itself closed behind her, Angela tapped her ear to make a call.
“Arthur? Yea, I was just at one of your places. Say, what would it take for me to get a hold of one of your server’s records?”
She scowled at the server as it stood idly by, waiting to be called. The server was her only company in the run-down chain bar. The franchise put tuxes on the things, as if dressing them up would make their stoic presence less unnerving. A pulsing green light on what might be considered its head pulsed needlessly into a room already saturated with green, assuring the patrons of the bar that everything the server observed was being recorded in a hub somewhere. The candlestick fastened tightly to the server’s hip ensured anyone who didn’t mind being recorded still paid their tab.
The smell of walnuts and manure in the bar was renewed as the door swung open unexpectedly. Angela turned to observe an unusually tall man minding his head as he stumbled inside, lethargically making his way to the other end of the bar as though teach additional moment of existence drained more of his soul. His head collapsed into his hands as he settled into the chair, giving in to the weight of the world around him.
“Something the matter?” Angela asked, seeking to distract from her own despair. The man offered a grunt in response, but the sinews covering his hands gave a more intriguing response. Despite the emerald glow of the factory, she could see his dark hands reflecting less than the vines wrapped around them. Either he was trying to make a fashion statement, or he was a lab rat.
She didn’t know how to react, what to say to someone like him. She had heard of human trials being conducted for new treatments that promised regenerative capabilities. The increase in genetic research for plant growth was well known, and Neo Miami was often revered for housing significant breakthroughs in the field. Human augmentations, however, were less advertised. She thought the trials were only rumors spread by an increasingly disenfranchised lower class, but this man was no rumor.
“Where are you coming from?” Angela pried. She needed more than her senses could tell her, she needed his confirmation. He sat motionless for a minute, the pulsing green light from the server accentuating his disfigurement. Then, slowly, he picked up his head and locked eyes with Angela, meeting her steely gaze.
“Bogart. Labs.” He overemphasized the words, ensuring he wouldn’t have to repeat himself. She knew it. She had met the CEO of Bogart, a slimy man with ill-intent. Not too different from the other higher-ups she had met from other companies, but what was special about the people at Bogart was how little they talked about their product. The research being done in their lunar branch was always described as “top-secret”, which drew suspicion from Angela only because she could never quite shake the rumors she had heard. She ignored those feelings in favor of the profit she could make by ensuring Rising Star Industries and Bogart had a friendly relationship. That’s just how things were done in Neo Miami. If corporations stuck together, then competition could be avoided and Neo Miami might be profitable.
And here was their work, after she had been cast to the dredges of society, she could finally see what the lower class had been talking about. This man strewn across the bar was the result of the freedoms Bogart had taken from him. Disfigured, alone, and broken.
He dropped his head back to the bar, welcoming any fate that befell him as an escape from the present. The cool metal soothing his mutated body like a mother brushing a cooing child. Whatever money he got from the trial, Angela was sure it wasn’t enough. He would have to return for more eventually, becoming even more disfigured and being less capable of working any other job. This man got trapped in the cogs of a malicious machine whose only intent was to grind whatever money they could from his weakened bones.
After considering him for a while, Angela moved closer to him and called over the server. With a click and a whirr that sounded happy in the face of the despair that permeated the small room, the server wheeled over to her. The display on its face, meant to mimic human eyes and a mouth, shined an artificial smile at its customer. Angela said she was ready to pay, and she waved her hand toward the server so it could get a biometric scan and pull her bank account information to charge. The server raised an arm, and activated a light so as to get a more accurate reading, wiping away the green filter from their corner of the bar. Satisfied with her credentials, the server flashed another polite smile, and resumed its post in the corner behind the bar. Angela nodded to the man, and made her way to the exit. As the door eased itself closed behind her, Angela tapped her ear to make a call.
“Arthur? Yea, I was just at one of your places. Say, what would it take for me to get a hold of one of your server’s records?”